


Secret

by SumeragiSakura



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Mystrade Valentines Calendar 2018, Secret Admirer, Semi Public Sex, blink and you’ll miss it background johnlock, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 20:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13621503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SumeragiSakura/pseuds/SumeragiSakura
Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day and Greg’s got an extra case on his hands.





	Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, this is my fic for the 2018 Mystrade Valentine’s Calendar and apparently it’s the first E rated fic so far ;) Not beta'ed or britpicked and I don’t own them, as usual. If you’re British and something I wrote sounds weird please let me know. I hope you like it!

Greg stumbled into work late that morning. Ten AM, two coffees in, and he still felt a bit like those zombies he saw on the telly a few nights ago. Par for the course more often than not in his line of work but last night had truly been a special case. 

The Vice Chair of the London Zoological Society was found floating in the penguin pool alongside a good majority of his internal organs while their annual £800 a plate gala fundraiser was in full swing in the conservatory two buildings over. Apparently someone gutted him sometime between dinner and dancing. Between Greg's homicide unit, the multitude of guests in attendance loitering about, the penguins, and their sleepy headed keepers scrambling behind to keep their charges out of the gore the scene had, quite literally, been a zoo. He hadn’t gotten to bed until 4am.

The memory made Greg even more exhausted. He detoured to the break room to replenish his mug with NSY’s finest wake up blend before he made his way to his office. He unlocked his door and stepped inside only to step back out again a few minutes later. He inspected his door handle, then stood up and bellowed “Donovan!” across the floor.

“Yeah?” Sally Donovan piped up from where she was diligently typing up something.

“Come into my office a minute.” He left the door open a sliver and sat on the edge of the desk rather than behind it to wait for her.

“Good morning boss! What’s up?” Sally shut the door softly behind her. Her bright look and chipper tone of voice told of the good nights sleep she obviously got while she was off duty last night. Lucky bastard.

“You were in pretty early this morning right?”

“Yup, to finish up those back reports. I heard about your late night visit to the zoo. Any good leads so far?”

“A couple, but that’s not why I called you in. Did you happen to see anyone strange hanging around on the floor, particularly near my office?”

She shook her head. “No sir. Only Gregson and the usual night shifters going home. Oh, and Dimmock breezed through ‘bout an hour ago. Why?” Greg leaned forward a bit to stand up, then stepped aside to reveal a sparkling crystal vase overflowing with red and white roses sitting right in the middle of his desk. “Oh, they’re beautiful! That’s right, today is Valentine’s day. How many years in a row does this make it? Six?”

“Seven, actually.” Greg corrected in disbelief. Every Valentine’s day for the past seven years he received a gift from a secret admirer. The first year it happened he received a fine bottle of whiskey. At the time he assumed his then wife sent it and called to thank her. By the end of the conversation she was tearfully accusing him of slumming around with cheap whores and sticking his dick in anything that moved. He’d had to apologize for weeks afterward only to find out later she’d been sleeping with her yoga instructor.

It caused such a fiasco that he vowed to never accept any other gifts, not that he expected to get any more beyond that first year. He was genuinely surprised when Valentine’s day rolled around the next year and another impeccably wrapped package was waiting on his desk for him. It turned out to be a high quality pair of gloves, a welcome item after he lost his usual pair earlier that week.

Just like that his vow went out the window. He simply never mentioned his Valentine’s day gifts to his ex-wife again. True to his virtuous nature he felt bad about it on occasion, but when he compared his lie of omission to her repeated physical infidelity he got over it fairly quickly. 

“Wow, how persistent. And you still have no idea who sends these presents every year?”

“Nope. There’s never anything with them beyond nondescript little notes. Look here.” He pointed to the small white card with red and pink hearts in the corners tucked into the bouquet.

Sally read the note out loud. “‘To Inspector Lestrade, from your Secret Admirer.'” She plucked the note out of the holder and flipped it over but it was a single page note card and nothing more. “Certainly doesn’t offer much in the way of detail.” 

“What I want to know is how the hell they keep getting into my locked office without anyone noticing.” Greg took a swig of coffee and winced at the bitterness. He’d purposely taken it black to help wake him up.

Sally crouched low to inspect the vase more closely. “You did have a late one last night. Is it possible you forgot to lock your door before you left?”

“No, I didn’t bother stopping back here last night. Plus I heard the lock click open this morning for sure.” He stroked his lightly stubbled chin with his thumb and forefinger. 

“Ooh, I know boss.” She nudged him in the arm with her elbow. “Maybe it’s someone on the overnight cleaning staff.”

He smirked. “Right, every night as they emptied my bins they’d catch a glimpse of me in my beach photos and fall a little more in love.” He snapped his fingers. “No, I’ve got it! The Chief Super’s been sending them all these years!”

“Oh sure, he’s your number one fan all right.” Sally laughed and cringed at the same time. “You know, his Nibs will probably show up the minute he hears about the zoo thing. Maybe you should ask him.”

“I’m not so sure he will. Granted the circumstances are odd but it’s only one high profile murder. Besides, there’s no way I'd ask him about something like this. Can you imagine?” Greg lowered his voice a bit in an attempt to mimic Sherlock’s. “‘Its blindingly obvious Graham, why are you wasting my time with trivial matters?’” 

Sally shrugged. “It’s still a mystery. A locked room mystery at that. He especially loves those according to John's blog.” 

“Sally, I never thought I’d hear you argue in Sherlock’s favor. Has he finally won you over?” Greg teased. 

She grimaced. “Hmm, yeah, on second thought forget I mentioned him.” She turned and clapped Greg on the shoulder. “Well whoever it is, looks as though your lover is intending to get serious this year. That...” She stopped and held her hand out toward his desk for dramatic effect. “… is a _staggering_ amount of roses.” 

“No kidding.” Greg had never seen that many flowers crammed into one vase before. In fact they were so top heavy he wondered how they didn’t tip over. “I won’t be able to hide this from everyone, will I?”

“Not a chance. I'm shocked you were able to hide them from me when I first came in. Why would you want to anyway?”

“Because it’ll definitely cause a distraction and we don’t have the time for it. There were some swanky guests at last night’s gala murder and we’re going to feel extra pressure to solve this as quickly as possible. I’m sure I already have a bunch of messages from the press requesting a statement. I need all staff gathered in conference room 2 in twenty for a debriefing.”

“I’m on it. If I hear anything about who sent the flowers?”

“Well, let me know of course. But don’t let everyone get sidetracked!” He pointed at her to emphasize his sincerity on that point.

Sally nodded with a flirtatious smirk and left the room. Greg took a seat behind his desk. His gaze drifted to the bouquet while his computer verified his login. A secret admirer, continually admiring him for seven years. That someone would send him gifts with no hope of reciprocation for as long as they had was amazing in itself. Now that his divorce was finalized he wondered if the mystery person would ever work up the nerve to reveal themselves. 

\-----

The debrief began exactly as he anticipated with near deafening levels of wolf whistles and whooping. He’d worked with the majority of these people for years and they’d witnessed the slow, painful death of his marriage. Of course they’d be happy for him and be sure to let him know it via relentless piss-taking.

“All right, ALL RIGHT!” he ended up having to shout for order. “I know, all you wankers are all just jealous that I’m such a stud.”

“I confess Cap, it was me all this time! Take me now!” a constable yelled from the back and the room exploded in fresh laughter.

“Impressive Thomas, considering you haven’t even been here three years yet!” He shouted back. “That’s it, get it all out of your systems now. Seriously, there won’t be any time for joking around after this. I’m sure those of you who were off duty last night have heard about the zoo murder by now. This is already blowing up all over the news and everyone is going to need to give this case their all. Johnson! Any new information this morning?”

The room quickly quieted down at Greg’s serious tone. He and his team reviewed the particulars of the case and Greg went about his usual duties of collecting the information gathered thus far and assigning certain people to certain tasks. In this way the rest of the morning flew by as normal. 

Around two o'clock Greg got back to NSY after following up on a lead. He checked in with the techs in the lab then headed back to his office. His plan was to make some notes, grab a few things, and head back to the scene as soon as he could. If he were lucky he could grab a ham sammie from the convenience store on the way. He was in his office for all of ten minutes when the overhead pager system pinged.

“Inspector Lestrade to reception, Inspector Lestrade to reception.”

“Never a dull moment.” He muttered as he levered himself upright. When he got to the front desk a vaguely familiar young man was waiting for him holding a white plastic bag. 

“You Lestrade?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Here, I’ve got your lunch order.”

Greg eyed the man suspiciously. “But I didn’t make any lunch orders.” 

“Are there any other…” The man glanced at a small slip of paper attached to the bag “G. Lestrades in this building?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then this is for you.” He held the bag out for Greg to take. “Already paid for.” 

Greg reluctantly reached for the bag but stopped short of accepting it. “Wait, who sent you? Where did this food even come from?” He asked, noting a lack of name or logo on the bag.

The man simply held the bag out again. “I dunno mate, I’m just an Uber driver.”

Greg crossed his arms and tilted his head up. “You expect me to believe you can’t even tell me what restaurant this food is from?” His voice was rife with skepticism.

“Can’t tell you what I don’t know.” With that the man set the bag on the reception desk, turned on his heel and walked briskly toward the doors. 

“At least tell me what street you picked it up on!” Greg yelled after the guy but he was already out on the street. He reached into the bag and popped the top of the container to find a beautifully golden brown platter of fish and chips, piping hot. His stomach growled violently as the smell escaped the box.

The bit of paper was actually a small envelope addressed to G. Lestrade in beautifully flowing script. Much nicer than the handwriting on any note he'd received in the past. Greg carefully pulled it off the plastic bag, took the note out and read. _‘As a hard working member of London's finest I expect it will be difficult to draw yourself away for lunch today. Please accept this offering as a token of my affection. ~ Your Secret Admirer.’_

“Everything alright Greg?” the receptionist on duty asked him. “Should I call up a lad from the mail room to make sure it’s not a bomb or something?”

“What? No, no, thanks anyway Janet. It’s fine.” Greg stuffed the note into his pocket and grabbed up the bag.

“Is it another gift? From your secret admirer, eh?” Janet asked as she waggled her eyebrows at him. 

“No.” Greg flat out lied and all but ran back to his desk thanking his lucky stars that everyone else on his team was still out. As it was they all would know about this development by the end of the day thanks to Janet. 

He opened the container as soon as he sat down, not wanting too much condensation to gather and ruin the perfectly crisp contents. The policeman in him told him to throw the whole thing away since technically there was no way to guarantee where or who it came from. Ultimately his resolve was no match for the heavenly aroma steadily filling his office. He fished a plastic fork and two packets of malt vinegar out of the bag and cut off one tiny bite. _Surely a little test taste couldn’t hurt_ , he told himself. Before he knew it he’d eaten the entire thing slathered in vinegar with the reasoning that if it did turn out to be poisoned at least he’d die full of his favorite meal.

Come to think of it, his admirer must be aware that his favorite meal was fish and chips. He pulled the unfortunately crumpled note out and read it again. If his admirer personally wrote it there were far more details to their identity here than he’d received in the past. In fact, as he skimmed it a third time one specific name crossed his mind. No, of all people, it couldn’t be him. Could it?

He read the note once more and easily envisioned Mycroft Holmes sitting at his gigantic desk in Whitehall carefully writing the note with a fountain pen that cost more than his entire month's salary. He laughed out loud at himself. Sure, he and Mycroft shared a few pleasant evenings together drinking and trading war stories in the past, most of them revolving around Sherlock. Realistically though, Mycroft was from another world entirely. What interest could he possibly have in a lowly old detective like himself? 

\------

Though Greg tried to reason the idea away as ridiculous a tiny flame of hope ignited within him. It's gentle warmth radiated through his chest in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time. There wasn’t much time to devote to thinking about personal matters at the moment though. Greg tucked away his possible revelation and got back to work.

Upon his return to the scene Sally informed him that every single surveillance video from the previous evening had been erased by someone, even ones that were nowhere near the penguin habitat. He considered it a setback in their favor since only a short list of people had access to the security footage. He and Sally spent the rest of the afternoon running across town to interview as many of them as possible.

Some of them were board members who attended the gala. Others were zoo employees that spent all evening at home or working other jobs. All of them had fairly airtight alibis, which was not unusual this early in an investigation. Sometimes a little time and pressure was needed for the cracks to show. 

In any case Greg quickly reached the point where he would have to wait for more information from various people before planning their next move. Which meant it was time to head back, file some paperwork, and call it a night. He gave a fleeting thought to popping in at the pub to catch the end of whatever match was on rather than returning to his empty apartment. It was either that or leftover tikka and a bottle of beer by himself at home to save some money. Honestly neither option sounded all that great to him.

All plans for the evening went on hold as Greg rounded the corner and caught sight of Sherlock pacing in front of his office. Sherlock spotted him instantly and barked “Lestrade! What is the meaning of not calling me in on the Zoological Society case?”

“Ah, good evening Sherlock. Guess Donovan was right.” He herded Sherlock into his office and shut the door. John was inside admiring his gigantic rose bouquet. “Hi there John. It was only one measly murder. I thought you’d think it was boring.”

Sherlock’s glare could melt steel. “A member of the board of the Zoological Society is brutally gutted in the penweng habitat and you didn’t think I’d be interested? Have you gone completely mad?”

“Sherlock.” John said in a warning tone.

Greg blinked. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you’d gone mad.”

“No no, before that, which habitat was it?”

Sherlock looked over at John. “I did it again didn’t I?”

“Yup, you did.” John confirmed. 

“The pengweng... penleng… argh, damn it!” Sherlock took a breath and tried again. “The pen-guin habitat.” He said the word penguin slowly. “Go ahead, have a laugh, and then give me all the details you have so far.”

Greg couldn’t help sniggering a bit but didn’t bring any more attention to Sherlock’s pronunciation difficulties. “You’re seriously interested? It’s not a difficult case Sherlock. My team will be able to crack it no problem given enough time.”

“That may be the case but penguins are one of Sherlock’s favorite animals.” John stepped up next to Sherlock, his jacket rolled up in his arms.

“Exactly John. This is a grave injustice that must be rectified as soon as possible. Were any of the animals hurt?”

“Nah, they were all fine, only a little bloody. The penguin keepers were able to safely clean them up with the help of the crime scene team and they’re being closely monitored.” Greg made his way behind his desk and unlocked his computer, surprised Sherlock hadn’t hacked into it by now. “Alright, I’ll let you guys help if you like. Here’s what we’ve got so far.” 

He ran down the various details and Sherlock retreated to his mind palace. He was quiet long enough that John made conversation. “A secret admirer hmm? Must be nice. Moving on then are we?”

Greg swiveled in John’s direction and sat all the way back in his office chair. “Maybe, if whoever it is would finally reveal themselves. I’m not sure if you know this, but whoever it is has been sending me Valentine’s Day gifts for years.”

“Is that right? How many years?”

“Seven.” Sherlock’s distracted mutter was hardly audible. 

John’s eyes boggled. “Excuse me? Seven years? That’s…” He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s a lot longer than I expected.”

“Well, you two were chasing each other for about that long before you got together.” Greg pointed out. “Nice to know you’ve been keeping track.” Greg tossed in Sherlock’s direction.

“I assure you it’s not voluntary.” Sherlock continued staring into the distance, fingers tented in front of his chin.

“You have no clue who it could be after all that time?” John’s doubt was evident in the angle of his eyebrows. 

“They were always extremely careful to not give themselves away. I only recently got a vague idea of who it might be.” His little flame of hope flared up brightly at the thought. Greg looked away and rubbed the back of his neck to hide his pathetically smitten expression. “It seems so unlikely though. I don’t want to say something and turn out to be wrong.” _Might wind up exiled or worse_ , Greg added to himself.

John juggled his jacket around in his lap. “Well here, this might help clear it up some more.” He pushed a shiny red jewelry box with a slightly crushed gold bow on top across the desk to Greg. “It’s not from me, obviously. I’m just the messenger.”

“Another gift? Now this is getting to be too much. How exactly did you end up playing messenger boy?”

“I owed your admirer a favor.”

“It was worth it. Now, could you both quit gossiping like teenage girls and focus on our case? Lestrade, are your lackeys aware that the CCTV system the zoo uses is not truly closed circuit?”

“I don’t think so. What does that mean?”

“It means their system is connected to the internet, which also means that their system is open to outsiders, including hackers. Put your computer techs on it and they’ll find the security footage was erased remotely.” 

Greg held up a hand. “Hold on, even if the system is connected to the internet it couldn’t have been easy to do such a thing.”

Sherlock smiled. “For our average perpetrator, yes, but I have reason to believe our suspect is not average. Were there any other cameras in the vicinity pointed at the zoo grounds?”

“Not besides the government ones. Copies of that footage could take weeks to get.” Sherlock tilted his head and stared at him as if to say ‘How are you so dense?’. Greg looked over to John but he shrugged, apparently just as lost as Greg was. Sherlock’s eyes flicked down to the desktop and back up to Greg’s eyes. “What? Just tell me.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, covered his face with one hand and sighed dramatically. “Open the box already Lestrade.”

“Oh. Right.” _No way_ , Greg thought. There was no possible way Mycroft sent him the exact footage they needed before he even knew they needed it. He lifted the lid and inside he found a memory stick along with a single note card that read ‘2:27:03’ in the same impeccable handwriting as on the note that came with his lunch.

“It really was him. Mycroft’s been in love with me all this time?” Greg murmured reverently. Instantly all their past interactions were cast in stark relief in his mind. His thoughts flew to the last evening they spent together a couple months ago, sometime around Christmas and a relatively short time after his divorce was finalized. He remembered thinking Mycroft smiled far more than he ever noticed before. At the time he blamed it on the scotch. Greg had also caught him staring more than once but Mycroft expertly glossed over or redirected Greg’s attention away from the fact each time. He hadn’t given any of it a second thought until now. 

Reaching back even further there were countless seemingly insignificant instances where he suddenly realized Mycroft’s feelings should have been obvious at least to him if not to anyone else. Not that there was anything he would have done about it at the time since he was still married, nevertheless, he should have seen it long ago. And he called himself a detective, what a joke.

“Longer. Let’s not lose sight of the goal here, time is working against us. The memory stick.” Sherlock stood and held out an impatient hand.

Greg ignored Sherlock and put the memory stick into the USB drive himself. Sure enough it was the CCTV footage from two different angles outside the zoo on the night of the murder. Greg recognized the majority of the glamorously dressed people filing by each camera. He forwarded the footage to right before the time stamp Mycroft indicated, long after all the guests had arrived. The street was deserted at that time. At exactly 2:27:03 they got a brief but beautifully clear shot of a lone man in a long black dress coat holding an animal carrier. 

Greg paused the video on their mystery man. Before anyone else could react Sherlock exclaimed “I knew it! Lestrade, put out an APB on one Montgomery Norton. Contact the airports first, if he hasn't left yet perhaps we can still stop him! John!” With that both of them were out the door in a blink. 

“Text me where you're going! Call if you need backup!” Greg shouted after them. He knew it would only waste time if he tried to get them to wait for him. Clearly if they had any hope of catching this man he needed to get the word out ASAP. He set about doing his part immediately, all else momentarily forgotten in pursuit of their suspect.

\------

An hour later the APB was out and Greg knew everything NSY did on Montgomery Norton. Apparently he was a well known smuggler who dealt in whichever commodities would bring him the most profit. He had been loosely tied to a few different smuggling rings in the past and was notoriously difficult to catch, easily evading authorities time and again. Bottom line, if they managed to nab him it would be nothing short of a miracle. 

With no word from Sherlock or John, Greg found himself in a frustratingly familiar limbo, unable to plan his next move until other professionals had a chance to do their parts. He was again free to go home for the night.

There was one other person who may be able to provide more insight into their suspect. Someone who he was long overdue to have a conversation with, it seemed. Greg’s mouth dried up and his heart raced in a way that could be simply be related to the adrenaline of the case. Privately he knew better. He reached into his pocket for his phone but ended up pulling out one of his gloves first.

Greg paused. They were the very same gloves he received from his secret admirer, no, scratch that, from Mycroft on that second Valentine’s day. A gift so thoughtful he couldn’t help but accept them against his better judgement. A gift so high quality that he wore them regularly to this day. All thoughts that made him feel rather stupid for being so blind.

He flicked the screen to open to his text app. 

**We should talk. Can we meet up?** No, that could easily be taken as ominous. He didn’t want Mycroft to throw his defenses up. Delete.

 **I need more information about Norton, can I come see you?** No, no. He didn’t necessarily want to make it seem like he only cared about business. Delete.

Greg raked a hand through his hair. Surely he couldn’t be this rusty at flirting. To be fair he never attempted to flirt via text before. He tried again. **Would you happen to be available for dinner tonight, Mr. Secret Admirer?**

His thumb hovered uncertainly over the send button a few seconds. He mashed it before he could second guess himself again, then transferred the phone to his other hand to wipe the sweat off his palm. His text alert buzzed not a minute later and Greg nearly dropped it.

**I thought you would never ask. – M**

\------

Less than an hour later Greg walked through the familiar doors of the Diogenes Club to meet Mycroft in the Stranger’s room for dinner. Greg had been Mycroft’s guest at the Diogenes plenty of times before but never realized they had a kitchen. It made complete sense though. Why else would a bunch of misanthropes bother with a traditional club membership in the age of the internet? 

Upon entry he was greeted by a silent attendant who struck him as awfully familiar. The attendant put one hand up to his opposite shoulder and pulled down, repeated the motion on the other side, and held out his hands. Greg nodded, removed his coat, and handed it over. 

The attendant disappeared to hang it up. By the time he returned Greg finally placed him as the so called Uber driver from earlier. Greg almost slipped and said something to him but remembered not to speak at the last second. He settled for pointing at him with raised eyebrows instead. The attendant grinned politely and motioned for Greg to follow him. He slipped effortlessly through the hallways with barely a sound. 

They arrived at the door to the Stranger’s room and there was a sign that read ‘RESERVED’ in bold red letters. Greg looked to the attendant to confirm he was allowed to go in. The young man nodded and held out one gloved hand toward the door.

Greg cautiously entered and found the room transformed. Most of the usual stuffy leather chairs paired around small tables were gone. Only one pair remained off to one side, candle burning away on the side table. In fact, pillar candles were lit on every available surface lending a soft, intimate glow to the entire room. In the middle there was a beautifully set table with two unlit tapered candles in gleaming candleholders and a small vase of red roses, 6 blooms at maximum. 

Greg was so shocked at the state of the room that he stood with his back against the doors, uncertain of what he should do next. From the other side of the room a sultry voice floated to his ear. “Good evening Inspector. You may come in.”

A pleasant thrill ran through his body. Greg hadn’t come here expecting this to be that kind of dinner. Mycroft usually came across so aloof that, up until a few hours ago, Greg assumed he wasn’t at all interested in dating, much less sex. Honestly he had never been happier to be so utterly wrong about something. 

Greg found Mycroft seated comfortably on a leather chaise lounge close to the far wall. His lack of a suit jacket struck Greg first, having never seen Mycroft without one. Mycroft’s gaze remained fixed on him as he took a sip from the whiskey glass he was holding. The candle flames flickered in Mycroft's darkened eyes and something deep in Greg’s gut tightened. 

“Thanks for inviting me.” His voice sounded much lower to his own ear. “Seems a bit strange though doesn’t it? I invite you to dinner and you end up treating me instead?”

Mycroft smiled at him and set his glass on the side table. “Not at all.” He stood in one silken movement and slowly approached Greg. Even without a jacket he was impeccably dressed in a dark blue silk waistcoat that clung to his chest. Greg’s cock stirred at the vision, just the barest hint of interest making itself known.

“You, my dear Gregory, have had a trying few days at work.” He stopped not a hand’s breadth away and Greg restrained himself from reaching out to feel the smooth material of that waistcoat. Instead he drank in Mycroft’s dreamy expression, made all the more seductive by the golden glow of candlelight dancing across his features. “Chasing an international smuggler without being aware you were doing so. He is long gone you realize?” 

“That’s the idea I got from his file. Sherlock seems to think we can still catch him.”

“Unless Sherlock is currently on a plane to South Africa I’m afraid he will be disappointed.” Mycroft tentatively held a hand up toward him and Greg stepped closer in silent consent. Mycroft’s hand made contact with Greg’s chest and his breath shuddered when he spoke again. “There was no possible way you would be able to get us a dinner reservation with such short notice on Valentine’s Day.” He flexed his fingers over Greg’s suit jacket and extended them again underneath the lapel. His fingertips burned into Greg’s skin through his shirt with unanticipated intensity. Mycroft leaned in closer. “I, on the other hand, have been planning this for some time. Allow me to take care everything. Of you.” 

The last sounded like something between a statement and a question. “Please do.” Greg murmured huskily, not to be outdone in this little seduction game, and he swore he heard a tiny hitch in Mycroft’s breath. Mycroft used his free hand to pop open the button of Greg’s jacket and shuffled even closer. He shifted the hand on his chest up to push one shoulder of his jacket off while the other started from Greg’s stomach, slowly trailing up his chest. 

Greg purposefully kept still to allow Mycroft the lead but the combination of his aftershave mingled with his natural scent made this increasingly difficult. A slight turn of his head and his lips brushed the sensitive spot just beneath Mycroft’s ear, earning him a deep hum of approval.

Feeling more bold, Greg repeated the motion but this time touched the tip of his tongue lightly against the delicate skin. Whatever held Mycroft back up until that point snapped. He shoved the other side of Greg's jacket off his shoulder and immediately began trailing soft, wet kisses up and down Greg’s neck. Greg wanted to reach for him but couldn’t with his jacket partway down both arms. 

Mycroft maneuvered behind Greg to remove the jacket and resumed his barrage on the back of Greg’s neck as he worked on his shirt buttons. Greg heard a moan but could not say for sure who it came from. Mycroft’s lips touched his ear. “Do you know how long it’s been? Since my last touch. My last taste.” He punctuated his whispered words with a teasing lick to the outer curve of Greg’s ear. His straining erection twitched against his trousers. “Far too long Gregory.” He pulled Greg’s shirttails free and paused his ministrations to unbutton the cuffs. 

Once Greg’s shirt was gone Mycroft pulled them flush together and allowed his hands to roam freely over Greg’s exposed chest. Mycroft’s impressive hardness pressed against his backside and Greg ground his hips back onto it. “Is that your plan? To taste me?”

Mycroft’s hand’s flew to Greg’s belt and deftly unfastened the buckle. “Yes. I want to savor you.”

“Isn’t this a public room?” Greg breathed.

Mycroft nipped gently at the juncture of Greg’s neck and shoulder. “Ordinarily. Surely you noticed I’ve reserved it.”

“Couldn’t…” Mycroft carefully unzipped Greg’s flies and coherent thought fled for a split second. “…someone still catch us?”

Greg felt Mycroft’s chuckle rumble through both of their chests. “They could. It would be extremely unwise of them. But they could.” Mycroft shoved Greg’s trousers down and commanded. “Remove these and go sit.”

Greg jumped to comply. He took a seat in the same spot on where Mycroft sat earlier and leaned against the arm. The spot had gone cold by that time but Greg hardly noticed. He did notice, however, that Mycroft stood before him still fully clothed, the telltale bulge in his trousers now at eye level but just out of his reach. Mycroft stared hungrily but didn’t move any closer. _Oh, maybe he wants to watch_ , Greg thought. 

Happy to oblige Mycroft's kinks Greg let a hand drift toward his own erection and gripped himself, mildly surprised to find his pants thoroughly soaked through at the tip. Mycroft stepped forward to pull his hand away and Greg took full advantage of his proximity. He slid a firm hand behind Mycroft’s neck and pressed their lips together. When Mycroft’s lips parted Greg teasingly flicked his tongue into his mouth. A raw whimper welled up from Mycroft’s throat, causing a jolt of arousal to race straight to Greg’s aching prick. “Oh god, Myc, if you want a taste, you’d better do it soon.”

Mycroft whispered against his lips. “I do. Lie back against the arm.” He stood and worked on removing his waistcoat and shirt as Greg found a comfortable position. Down to his trousers he returned his attention to Greg. He efficiently removed Greg's pants and tossed them out onto the floor with the rest of their clothing. 

He then set about arranging Greg’s legs, throwing one over the low back of the chaise and planting the other one on the floor so that Greg was completely spread out before him. He knelt on the seat in between Greg’s legs and leaned close to his cock. Greg watched in anticipation as he opened his lips but Mycroft merely hovered there, allowing his warm breath to hint at the pleasure to come. When Mycroft pulled away to unfasten his own belt Greg sobbed in frustration.

Thankfully Mycroft made quick work of his belt and flies. He resumed his earlier position and wrapped warm fingers around Greg’s shaft. He stroked Greg experimentally while circling the head with his thumb. It felt so good to finally have Mycroft touch his prick that Greg moaned heartily. The sound amplified as it bounced off the high walls of the Stranger’s room and Greg clapped a hand over his mouth. With the dead quiet of the rest of the club he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound carried to other rooms. 

Mycroft let him go to pull Greg’s hand away. “Please Gregory, I want to hear you.”

Greg panted. “Won’t everyone hear me?” 

He took Greg back in hand. “Let them.” Mycroft closed his lips around the shining pink head and circled it again with his tongue.

“Ohhh, fu—ck, oh… ahh!” Greg showed his appreciation in all manner of noises after that, beyond caring who heard him if Mycroft didn’t care. 

Mycroft took his prick down to where his fingers met his lips and began pleasuring Greg in earnest. He pumped and sucked him for long minutes and the delicious pressure rapidly built to almost unbearable levels. All the while Greg continued his litany of appreciative sounds though his ability to form words had long since fled him.

Mycroft moved his hand away and little by little took him deeper into his mouth until Greg felt the back of Mycroft’s throat. He threaded his fingers through Mycroft’s hair and willed him to look up. Mycroft pulled off enough to meet Greg’s eyes while still laving his tongue around the tip. Greg wanted to tell him he didn’t have to, that he didn’t want to hurt him, but he was physically incapable of forming the words. 

Mycroft held eye contact a few seconds more, then took Greg’s entire length into his mouth and down his throat. Greg’s eyes fluttered shut as pure sensation overtook him. He maintained enough self control to keep from thrusting up and taking his pleasure from Mycroft’s sinfully hot mouth, though some part of him desperately wanted to. 

Greg became aware of a rhythmic noise that he thought sounded like knocking and his eyes flew open. The sound slowed and he quickly realized it was too soft and too close by to be knocking. Mycroft, having just caught his breath, swallowed him deeply once again and the tempo of the sound increased. It dawned on Greg as he watched Mycroft’s head bobbing shallowly over him that he was jerking himself off as he deep throated Greg’s prick. _God, look at him. He loves having my thick cock stuffed in his mouth._

Greg only had time to tighten his grip in Mycroft’s hair before he pulsed down his throat. Mycroft immediately ran out of breath and pulled off gasping for air but held him firmly through the rest of his orgasm. Streams of his own come streaked his chest and stomach. Not long after he heard a soft groan and felt a new stream hit him. Greg opened his eyes, eager to watch Mycroft in the throes of orgasm shooting himself onto his body. Most of it ended up on his spent cock and the ill used cushion. 

Before fully dropping off into post orgasm haze he reached up and pulled a pliable Mycroft down onto him, craving the feeling of his skin after such intensity. He was surprisingly heavy but in that moment Greg didn’t care in the least. Unfortunately Greg’s leg and hip instantly protested the awkward position. He carefully pulled it from the back of the chaise with a grunt and let it collapse onto Mycroft. “Sorry.” He breathed raggedly. “And I’m sorry I didn’t warn you.”

Once he caught his breath Mycroft lifted his head from Greg’s chest. His hair was a tousled mess, his cheeks held onto the deep crimson flush of orgasm, and he had come on his cheek and his chin. Greg thought he made a divine vision like this. “As far as I’m concerned you have absolutely nothing to apologize for.” 

Greg gently wiped the mess from Mycroft’s chin with his thumb. “Good.” He tilted Mycroft’s head up to kiss him softly. Mycroft gazed at him with such adoration afterward Greg wondered what exactly he had done to inspire such a look. “I didn’t realize it was going to happen right then. You were just too bloody good. I’ll try to be more considerate next time though.”

Mycroft smiled and laid his head back on Greg’s chest. “What if I’m that good again?”

“Then you’ll only have yourself to blame.” Greg kissed the top of his head and Mycroft sighed. “So now what? It looks like you actually did have a dinner planned here, but we’ve made quite a mess of ourselves.” Greg was already dreading the thought of having to take a sink bath with the sheer amount of come coating his skin.

“Now I was hoping we could retire to my rooms. We can shower and get dressed there, then return here for our proper romantic dinner.”

“Wait, you have private rooms here? Why didn’t we do this there instead? I mean, aside from the fact that you get off on the semi public aspect.”

Mycroft sat up to fix him with a glare. Greg dared him to deny it with a wicked smile. “Really Gregory. I had no idea what your reaction was beyond that you were not immediately repulsed by the idea of having dinner with me. It would have been presumptuous of me to invite you directly to my boudoir, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah, probably.” Greg sat up and looked pointedly around the room. “Although from the look of it your hopes were still pretty high.”

“Perhaps.” Mycroft conceded on little sigh. “But my methods appear to have worked rather well on you.” Mycroft cast him a wicked grin of his own. 

Greg laughed. “How could they not? You are quite a seductive man when you want to be, Mr. Holmes.” Greg stretched out his neck, more muscles now complaining the angle he’d been lying at. “I’m really not looking forward to doing the walk of shame past your silent mates out there though.”

“There will be no ‘walk of shame’, as you put it. The attendants will see to it. As I told you, I’ve taken care of everything.” Mycroft’s face tightened minutely as he took on his usual defensive demeanor. Greg could physically feel his heart melt as he watched it happen and knew, with certainty, he was already in deep. 

He huffed, gently pulled Mycroft to him and touched their foreheads together. “Of course you have. You’ve done a spectacular job of it. Thank you.” He kissed Mycroft again and the tension marring his expression fell away.

“I must confess that I truly did not expect this evening to go so well.”

“Neither did I. Isn’t it great when things go much better than you expect?”

“Indeed. It’s all the more wonderful in it's rarity.” Mycroft took Greg’s hand and stood. “Come, lets get cleaned up. I understand the chef has outdone herself with tonight’s dinner and I seem to have worked up an appetite.”

Greg let a no doubt soppy grin spread across his face. “That makes two of us then. Lead the way, Love.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Me, constantly second guessing my knowledge of word meanings:** hmm, let me make sure boudoir is the right word to use here…  
>  **m-w.com:** boudoir - a woman's dressing room, bedroom, or private sitting room  
>  **Me:** yup, Mycroft would 100% use this word in this situation.
> 
> This is my first crack at writing from Greg’s POV but usually I like writing from Mycroft’s. There are things going on in Mycroft’s head that I wish I could have included and expanded on. I’ll just say that for all his projected confidence he is struck by intense insecurity a few times. Luckily, sweet straightforward Greg is so into what’s happening that doesn’t pick up on it at all and unwittingly bolsters Myc’s confidence with his enthusiasm.
> 
> If you’re thinking they jumped into bed together pretty quickly just know I wrote this under the assumption that poor Greg hasn’t had any sex, even bad sex, in over a year. As for our dear Mycroft, he last got a sad handy at some international summit even longer ago. They are adults, they are attracted to each other and they are horny. They deserve this!
> 
> The zoo in this story is fictional, obviously. I don’t have any actual knowledge of any zoos in London. I just wanted Sherlock to have trouble with the word penguin like Ben does XD
> 
> As for the favor John owed Mycroft I imagine it went something like this - John wants to get concert tickets as a gift for Sherlock for some popular act that Sherlock would NEVER EVER admit to actually liking. Someone like Beyoncé or Adele or One Direction. Anyway, John underestimates the demand and by the time he gets around to buying them they’re sold out. He tries to get them online but the resale prices are ridiculously high. Somehow Mycroft learns about this and comes to John’s rescue with a pair of VIP tickets. Boom, favor owed.
> 
> Happy Valentine’s Day and thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed my little Seductioncroft story. You know our boys did ;)


End file.
